Carmilla, Revisited
by Al Harris
Summary: Countess Carmilla von Karnstein and her family were a lesser-known vampire menace, cutting an exsanguinated swath through medieval and renaissance Europe, until her black-sheep brother vowed his, and his children's lives, to the extermination of their own family. The Countess had a vendetta of her own, vowing the extermination of the Hesselius bloodline by her progeny.
1. The Aftermath

Carmilla, Revisited

A "Carmilla" Fanfiction

A/N: I don't own "Carmilla"; I'm not that talented, lol. The author is Sheridan LeFanu, and he wrote it sometime in 1872. I really suggest you go read the original, because it's phenomenal! How phenomenal is it? Well, even though you've probably never heard of it, Bram Stoker sure did... it was the inspiration for his iconic novel, "Dracula"! Also, I know this chapter is a little uneventful; but I promise, I'm just setting the mood. The next chapter will have a lot more dialogue and action!

One: The Aftermath...

They thought they had finally done it. They thought that Countess Mircalla von Karnstein had finally been exterminated by the great vampire hunters General Spielsdorf, Baron Vordenberg, and Dr. Hesselius. There were no celebrations on that iron-overcast Winter's day, as the group grimly made their way out of the ghost-town that had once been the village of Karnstein and back to Dr. Hesselius' home in Styria. There they stayed for nearly a week. The first few days were torturously stressful. There was no way to ensure that Mircalla, or "Carmilla" as she was known by her former girlfriend Laura, was truly dead. Yes, they had destroyed the corpse they presumed was her body, even though Baron Vordenberg's ancestor had failed because of his love of the countess. Yes, the presumed wraith that was Carmilla seemed to disappear... no, there was no evidence that the countess was either truly dead, or truly a ghost in the first place.

Eventually, as the days came and went, they stopped keeping watch; and were comforted by the fact that, even if the countess wasn't truly dead, she clearly wasn't planning to harrass them anytime soon. By the end of that week, they had begun to return to some semblance of normalcy, though Laura's health was still slow in returning. After the guests left, the Habsburg monarchy launched an inquisition into the matter. Not too long after the matter was investigated, Laura and Dr. Hesselius were free to go on a year-long vacation, while Laura recouperated. The nightmares were starting to go away, and Laura was finally even comfortable enough to be able to take a stray black cat as a temporary pet.

The years passed; and, though Laura never forgot her experiences and still had that occasional attraction to other women, she settled down with a nice man, and had a family of her own. They had two lovely children: twins, named Gustave and Salina. As far as they were concerned, Karnstein, and Carmilla, were little more than horrible nightmares and a traumatic period in Laura's life. As the decades passed, she got to see her great-grandchildren, before she finally was laid to rest next to her father, at their family home in Styria. Soon enough, the centuries started to roll by, the Hesselius family immigrated to America, and the last person born into that respectable family was Celeste Hesselius.

Celeste had grown up with the family fable of Carmilla, which had gained at least some notoriety due in part to the efforts of the researcher Sheridan LeFanu. Nonetheless, spending 24 years in America, growing up with modern science and technology had jaded the lovely chestnut-haired lass against anything that couldn't be scientifically explained. She rejected the family tradition of psychological and parapsychological studies, and decided to study biophysics. She may not have been supermodel material, but she certainly didn't have any lack of dates. In fact, with her small, impish appearance, she was cute enough to attract both students and instructors. Still, she longed for something more. In her deepest, darkest fantasies, she was waiting for a smooth, dark, forbidden love to sweep her off her feet and fly her to a moonlit paradise...

Of course, the would-be vampire hunters had no idea that they had miserably failed in their task. Had they done more research, they would have discovered that Carmilla's own mother was named Millarca. It was common for the matriarchs of their family to assume names that sounded similar to those of their ancestors. Somehow, the women maintained the same appearance in each generation. Seething with rage, Carmilla made a vow to herself that she would not let herself, or her progeny rest, until they had exterminated the entire Hesselius line. First, though, she had to escape the real threat to her life: her brother, Augustus.

Both children had been born into a family of psychic vampires: people whose bodies expended so much energy that they would have eventually gotten deathly ill and lost their lives, had it not been for their ability to drain others of their energies. It was expected that both children would further propagate the family tradition of draining their prey to death itself, thus ensuring the hope of longevity and vitality. Carmilla, who had a crippling fear of the death that constantly haunted their bloodlines, had no qualms about drawing the life-force from her targets. Unfortunately for Carmilla, she had fallen into the same trap as the other females in her lineage: with a tainted understanding of love and almost no interaction with other people, Carmilla invariably fell in love with her prey, literally killing them with her affection. She would go through the typical few weeks of grieving, as her source of sustenance was no longer around to maintain that intimate connection; but eventually, she'd find another object of her obsession, and the hunt would be on again. Augustus, on the other hand, preferred to consider the fact that his prey was a living, intelligent creature, and he didn't need to kill them to survive.

On the night that Carmilla was supposed to have died, Augustus had been hiding in the mausoleum, in an empty tomb. He had heard about what happened: Carmilla was hunting young girls now, barely eighteen years old! Before, she had been partial to slightly older women, as she could pretend to be a sweet, innocent, naive young waif and lure them into a more passionate method of feeding. Now, she was going for teenaged girls! While they had never exactly fed on the elderly, Augustus had become aware that Millarca, his mother, was getting Carmilla accustomed to preying on younger and younger girls. Millarca had already lined up another target: a doctor of philosophy, no less than 100 miles away, with a fourteen year old daughter. This was unacceptable!

Augustus sat on the once-luxurious canopy-bed, which he had simplified by stripping it of it's more ornate trappings to make it a simple four-post bed. For perhaps the thousandth time since his father had revealed to him what his legacy would be, Augustus' head weighed heavily on his cupped hands, a clear symbol of the weighty burden he bore. He knew his family had historically cut a blood-drained swath of misery and violence through Europe. He also knew that his own family had drained the village dry, shamelessly feasting on the energy of men, women, and children alike. They took their victims' lives, and still wouldn't be happy until they were bathing in their blood.

"No more," Augustus said, his eyes steely with determination. "We've taken our lust too far. It ends today..."

Indeed, he thought it would end that morning, as he snuck into the chambers of his parents. Though they slept in pools of blood, and he had seen the feral wrath radiating from their auras as they tore their dead prey apart to drain them of their blood, they still looked so very peaceful... besides, they were his mother and father. They may have been monsters; but, as the Lord once said, even they knew how to be good to their children.

It was no easy decision for him to take the family axe and decapitate them, stake them to their beds, and set their bodies on fire. It was even harder to hear them weeping and shrieking in agony. He knew what would come next...

With great trepidation, Augustus stalked down the corridor, feet silently slithering along the stone floors. He reached the bedroom of his younger brother and sister; and, with tears stinging his already bloodshot eyes, they were next on his list of murders.

Carmilla heard the commotion and smelled the smoke. All along, she knew it would only be a matter of time before her soft-hearted brother would muster the courage to wipe out his own vicious, brutal, predatory family. With her bags packed, Carmilla carefully slipped out her chamber window and shimmied down the sheet that was her rope.

Augustus was just a few seconds too late, as he kicked the heavy oaken doors open, his torch flashing every which way. He knew that, as vicious as his parents were, his sister was equally surreptitious. She could have been hiding in every shadow...

... or, as he soon discovered, escaping out the window, to the family stables, where she harnessed the strongest stallion they had to the family carriage, and rode off into the sunrise.

Through the years, Augustus continued to hunt his sister across Eastern Europe, as she fed and bred. As the years passed, Augustus became a father to triplets, and raised them to face his evil sister's offspring. Through the decades, as Carmilla and her children immigrated to America, Augustus prepared his children to take over his responsibility for him. After hearing about their heritage, they were more than happy to take over, leaving their beloved father behind to die at the hands of an enraged mob that thought he - not his sister, - was responsible for the mysterious deaths in their hamlet.

Marcelo was the last surviving descendant of Countess Carmilla von Karnstein. At six feet in height, with his light, delicate features, he was a "lady-killer"; both figuratively, and literally. He had already drained three different women, before he enrolled in L.S.U. for a degree in literary history. He had finally tracked down the last surviving member of the Hesselius line. He was bound and determined to get his revenge on her... unless Henry arrived, and finally fulfilled his ancestor's quest to eliminate the rest of the von Karnstein bloodline...


	2. The Arrival

Carmilla, Revisited

A "Carmilla" Fanfiction

A/N: I don't own "Carmilla"; I'm not that talented, lol. The author is Sheridan LeFanu. Also, special thanks to everyone who read and favorited!

Two: The Arrival...

Fifteen hours. It was a fifteen-hour drive from Marcelo's cheap motel room, to the university. In the room, he left the companion he'd taken with him for three weeks straight, who had died last night from an unspecified medical condition. Marcelo smirked, feeling her spirit resonating from every cell of his body. She'd gone out of this world the way any barely-legal stripper seemingly would want to: sweating, exhausted, and in a state of ecstasy that was more powerful than any drug. It was just too bad that it took so much to get rid of her blood. Spend one night in a blood-bath, and you pay for it in the morning... or, so his mother had taught him.

He remembered when he'd gotten the call from his ever-faithful resource. It truly was sad that the only thing that made Elmer compliant, anymore, was the threat of death. Nonetheless, Elmer was compliant. "Name pops up in Louisiana, Marc," he said. "Bitch, named Celeste. Last Hesselius born..."

Marcelo's voice was deep, quiet, and clear... the kind of soulless voice that could send chills down your spine, and make you look over your shoulder a few more times than usual. "You listen to me," he warned. "She's my prey, not yours. You are not allowed to insult her. You had best make sure I never discover you've been so insulting to my prey again, understand?"

Elmer gulped. "Sure, Boss. I just, uh... don't get why you're so protective of... of someone you plan to kill," he said, voice quivering with every word. Marcelo von Karnstein was definitely not someone to irritate.

Thankfully, Marcelo wasn't upset. "By insulting my prey," he explained calmly, "you insult me. I do not hunt inferior prey." His voice took that chilling tone again. "You'll be mindful of that in the future, won't you?"

Elmer nodded, knowing Marcelo would probably know, even though he couldn't have seen the man physically. Sometimes, he would feel a tugging on his chest, near his heart. That was usually his sign that Marcelo was focused on him. He would never forget the night he'd gotten on Marcelo's bad side...

Marcelo hadn't fed in weeks, and it was starting to show. His skin was getting more and more pale, his eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles, and more than once, 'the Beast' had come out, and caused him to trash his apartment. He was on his way to see Elmer, who had miserably failed in bringing him new prey. He was just glad that Elmer wasn't put in charge of his finances, or he'd really be screwed.

He suddenly appeared in Elmer's rat-hole of a motel room, clearly not in the mood to banter. "You'd better have someone for me, Elmer," he warned.

Elmer shook his head. "Sorry, Marc, I couldn't get anybody," he admitted. "I'm getting a reputation, Marc. The cops have already come by five times! Five damn times, Marc! What the Hell am I supposed to do, tell them I'm getting you women to slaughter?!"

"Watch your tone, Elmer," Marcelo threatened, his voice picking up a slight growl. He could already feel his aura flaring, tendrils just itching to feed.

"Or what, Marc?!" he asked, the twitch coming back. "If I end up in the slammer, you got NO other sources! You gotta pick up your OWN damn prey! If I said I was done right now, you'd be lost! You'd be up shit creek without a damn paddle!"

Marcelo could feel the pulse of Elmer's energy. Though it was thoroughly rotten with disease and drugs, Marcelo was desperate, and the aggravation made him even hungrier. A snarl crossed his lips, exposing his slightly-sharpened eyeteeth. "You'll PAY for that, Elmer," he growled, pouncing. In the ten feet he had managed to launch himself, he'd knocked Elmer to the floor, and started smashing the poor addict's face in. "HOW DARE YOU?!" he roared, driving his elbow deep into Elmer's back. Elmer, of course, shrieked in agony and fear, thinking the enraged vampire would beat him to death. If only he had been so lucky...

Marcelo turned him over, eyes blazing with an infernal emerald fire. "You're about to learn your place, mortal," he hissed, his aura washing over Elmer. As Marcelo's aura enveloped his badly beaten, poisonous prey, a soft violet glow passed over Elmer's vision, as if it were a veil. Through the veil, Elmer could feel the very depth of his spirit being dragged out of his body. He started to feel warm for a moment, before that warmth gave way to a frightening chill. His energy was sucked through the veil, which filtered out the drugs and disease, into Marcelo's mouth, through the breath he was sucking in. His own eclipsing aura began to glow brighter, fed by the energy he was sucking from Elmer.

Soon, Elmer's vision began to blur, his ears ringing and heart pounding in his chest. There was now an aching, itching feeling all over his body. As Elmer looked down, he saw a bruise developing... but Marcelo hadn't touched his chest at all. Elmer's mind started racing with panic, until the drain caused it to shut down. The last thought he could process, was the thought that he could feel his heart slowing to a frightening level.

Elmer had been in a coma for a month. The doctors said he was lucky he survived, and it must have been the stress. Elmer knew better... he had personally felt the wrath of an irritated, drained vampire... and he would never risk that wrath again...

By sunrise, Marcelo was finally passing through the Louisiana border. He planned to find a motel, check in, and get some sleep for a few hours, before class started for him that day. His family's extensive wealth bought his way into college. Once he was there, he'd use his manipulative powers to get some information on this "Celeste", and her classes. He'd get close to the girl, drain her completely dry, and make her commit suicide. Once she was dead, he'd revel in the deluge of her blood. He even considered keeping some in a small vial around his neck. That would rub it in his mortal enemy's face. Not only would he have succeeded in his family's mission; he would escape certain death, and perhaps even kill the last of his family's deadliest foes...

Celeste was having the time of her life at a major kegger. It was one of the largest L.S.U. had ever seen. There was alcohol of all kinds, and it surely flowed freely. Naturally, as at least half of the attendants were coed beauties, most of whom were either too beautiful to be entirely natural, or too desperate to pass up after six shots of Johnny Walker and about four cups of Armageddon. Needless to say, everybody was surprised at Celeste's ability to hold her liquor. They didn't know that, on the way to their ancestral home, on the rare occasion that they had to visit the place, they would visit Germany... and, at an early age, sweet, bright little Celeste Hesselius was introduced to the joys of Jaegermeister.

A warm, inviting hand took Celeste's hand. Her eyes lazily trailed from the hand, up the well-toned arm, past the strong jawline and full, pouty lips, to the sparkling eyes of a god of a man. "Let me take you on a tour of our house," the stranger invited with a warm, disarming smile. With the radiant warmth coursing through her bloodstream, and the heat stirring in her loins, Celeste gave a goofy, shy smile of her own, and followed the model of a man upstairs.

As she went upstairs, ignoring the sundry items of clothing hanging from the bannister, stepping over drunken frat boys that were practically drowning in their own bile, Celeste started having second thoughts. She wondered what might happen if she told her gorgeous escort that she didn't really feel like crawling under the covers with him. She wondered if they really would be there all alone, instead of with cameras or reinforcements. She wondered if, should she need to scream or fight, anyone would help her. As a little girl, she'd learned about the bystander effect: the fact that, when there were more people around, they would all be less likely to actually help.

She started pulling against her escort's suddenly iron grip. "Um, I... I think I'd rather just go back... to my dorm," she started to explain.

Her escort would have none of that, though, pulling her after him all the more, causing her to trip over her own dainty feet. Celeste was just glad she didn't wear her stilettos tonight; though, on the other hand, she wondered if she might have been able to use them as a weapon, or at least a distraction.

As Celeste continued to struggle, she noticed that she was being taken into a darker, less populated area of the house. She wondered how bad it would get. There were urban legends about coeds being dragged away into the depths of frat houses, their organs harvested, their muscles cooked for meat, their skin... she didn't even want to think about the uses for coed-skin. She tried to reason with herself. "Keep calm, Celeste," she mentally remembered. "Don't fall prey to the myths. Focus on finding any way out you can. Get to a cop, as soon as possible."

Kicking against her would-be captor, Celeste did little damage; but she managed to greatly anger her attacker, who threw her into a wall. She barely understood what he was saying, as the feeling of her backbone connecting with the wall wracked her mind with the potentially dangerous injury. "If you don't stop struggling, I can make this very painful for you." As her captor dragged her into a near-by room and threw her on a bed, she groaned, "You already have..."

Soon, the attractive devil, who was now staring at her, like a cat staring at a bird in a gilded cage, was joined by two muscle-bound apes. Both looked like they spent more time in the gym than in class; and it was clear that they were going to get something from her, with or without her consent.

As the trio closed in on Celeste, who felt like a fish in a bowl, she began to close her eyes, and pray to the God of her ancestors. If He was up there, she hoped He would let bygones be bygones, and save her from the imminent violation. Of course, being a woman of skepticism, her prayers brought her little comfort.

Suddenly, one of the large men disappeared into the shadows, followed by the sound of several sickening cracks and something that could only be described as a fist connecting with a huge slab of meat. The other monster and his demonic cohort rushed into the darkness... and, half a second later, went flying across the room, intimately connecting with the wall.

A spine-chilling figure emerged, frozen silence spreading out from his aura like a fog of death. Celeste couldn't be certain, but she thought his icy-blue eyes were alight with the radioactive fire of Hell. He stalked toward the hulking beefcake that remained, boring through his eyes and into his soul, keeping him transfixed. With a few key strikes and some flinch-provoking breaking of bones, the large, muscular bodyguard was left in an unconscious stupor. He moved, almost too quickly to see, toward her original assailant. Picking him up by his shoulders, the strange, almost ethereal figure gazed deeply into his eyes. "What made you think you'd get away with attacking an innocent, defenseless young woman?" he demanded.

"Wh-who... who are... WHAT are you?!" her attacker asked, at a loss for words. Never before had Rick or Jerry been so easily dispatched... and, they were football players, paying for school with a scholarship that demanded they take the hardest hits from the largest giants the Southeastern Conference could breed. Here, this average-sized young monster had not only knocked them out, but effectively put them out of commission: for all he knew, they were put out of their misery, once and for all.

"I'm your worst nightmare," the figure hissed. In the near-perfect darkness, Celeste could almost swear she had seen the auras of all the men in the room... and this, her savior, had an aura that would make the most hardened of soldiers cringe in fear. "I'm one of those monsters your parents told you didn't exist," he continued, face contorting into a snarl, voice becoming low and icy, as if it were channeling the very death that seemed to form a vortex of energy inside him. "And, I'm in dire need..."

As the heroic monster's prey gazed, wide-eyed, in horror, Celeste saw the aura of her would-be violator being drawn into the nexus of her protector, growing dimmer and dimmer as the aura of the dark guardian grew more intense and powerful. In almost no time, his prey was knocked out... and, he didn't have to hit him once.

The dark monster reached a hand out, and lifted Celeste off the bed. "You don't look injured," he mused, giving her a good once-over. "You feel very tired, after this ordeal, and the day you've had. You have just enough energy to get back to your dorm. Once you're back, the sight of your bed will have an intense, almost magnetic appeal. It will call to your body, inviting you to sleep on it. The invitation will be overwhelming. The atmosphere of this party is getting uncomfortable, anyway. I wonder if you'll want to leave, now..."

The next day, Celeste awoke, refreshed and in a calmer state of mind. She had no idea how she had gotten back to her bed, but she knew that there was just something so soothing and inviting about how it looked. She glanced over at her alarm-clock.

"11:45!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. "I'm going to be late!"

Celeste was glad she had showered before the party. She rushed out the door and across the campus, to her English Literature class, mentally scolding herself for being late.

As she rushed inside, she saw a cute new student talking to the teacher. "So, where do you want me?" he asked.

"Please, Marc," the teacher offered in a friendly tone, "There are no assigned seats here. Just sit wherever you're comfortable."

Marc flashed a sweet, soft smile, and ascended the steps. He saw his prey, the wretched monster that had plagued his family for generations. Giving her his most enticing look, Marc approached, a smile crossing his features yet again... though, this time, it was because of a sense of cold, predatory satisfaction. "I hope you don't mind if I sit here," he said. "My name's Marc. May I ask your name?"

Something about this guy was just too irresistible. It could have been his shimmering Autumn sunset hair. It could have been his smirk, now languidly presented on his face, which was strikingly pretty, for the face of a man. It could have been the bare hint of stubble, which gave him a slight edge. It could have been his bright, somehow intensely gentle gaze, which enveloped her from his verdant eyes. "Um... uh... well, that is... C-Celeste," she finally managed, offering her hand in hopes that he'd behave like a British gentleman, and tenderly graze her smooth, silky skin with his plush lips. "Celeste Hesselius."


	3. The Rendezvous

Carmilla, Revisited

A "Carmilla" Fanfiction

A/N: I don't own "Carmilla"; I'm not that talented, lol. The author is Sheridan LeFanu. Also, special thanks to everyone who read and favorited!

Three: The Rendezvous...

Celeste and Marc sat beside each-other, toward the back of the class, where they could take notes and still talk. Celeste could barely take her eyes off of Marc; there was just something so... _mesmerizing_ about him. She could've stared into his eyes for the rest of her life... literally; in fact, she had been reminded of the elusive passage of time by Marc clearing his throat, startling her. "See something you like?" he asked coyly, smirking with a disarming confidence Celeste had never really seen in any of her peers before. He was a lot like that one rebel every class had, who could captivate with his very presence.

"Uh, no... I mean, yeah... I mean, not that I like you in that way... but, it's not like I couldn't, either..." she fumbled, trying to reorganize her thoughts. "We really should be taking more notes," Celeste observed.

Marc smiled reassuringly. "I've been taking notes this whole time," he replied. "You can copy mine after class. Speaking of 'after class', I was wondering if you'd like to go with me to the coffee-house for lunch."

"YES!" Celeste replied eagerly. "I mean, yeah, sure."

Marc laughed. Normally, this would have humiliated Celeste, as it would humiliate any woman for her feelings to be exposed and taken so lightly; but, as with the rest of Marc, his laugh was somehow encouraging, warm, and friendly; not at all a laugh of derision. "I'm excited, too. I wonder if they can make it the way I'm used to."

Celeste smiled. "Oh, I'm sure they can. They're pretty famous for their innovative blends and custom orders."

Marc returned a wistful smile. "I remember how Mother used to make it," he remarked, with a far-away look in his eye. "She used to use just a dash of chickory, and some egg-shells to cut down on the acidity. Makes it less bitter, and a lot stronger; about as strong as a double-shot of espresso," he began. "I remember when I first started drinking coffee. I was ten, and..."

Celeste barely noticed how her attention slipped away, lost again in the beauty of Marc's eyes and the soft, smooth, low tone of his voice. She didn't even feel it when he was subtly linking his aura to her's, drawing some energy out for taste: she was so enrapt with his story, lost in the thrall of his voice, that she didn't notice the strong draining of her prana...

Nor did Marc notice, until it was too late, that Henry had slipped in, while the class was focused on the teacher's presentation at the dry-eraser board. He only felt Henry's presence when the man reflected a lazer-pointer off Celeste's laptop, and into his eyes. Quickly, Marc turned to see Henry, boring a hole through his skull with his glare. Fortunately, the spell had been broken just before the bell rang.

Celeste stood to leave, and was promptly driven back downward by the forces of gravity and vertigo conspiring against her. "Wow... I may need that coffee sooner than I thought," she said with a weary smirk. "Talk about drained!"

"Let's go, then," Marc suggested. "We wouldn't want you falling asleep on your way to your next class, would we?"

Marc could still feel Henry's eyes boring through him. _Game on, cuz,_ he thought in reply, the idea plastered across his face in the form of a sly, small smirk. _The last Hesselius is mine, and you can't do anything about it._

_ I can eliminate you, and end this feud at last,_ Henry's reply returned, also displayed in the cold, hard, sharp stare he held focused on Marc. _Your time is running out, Marcelo. Accept your fate._

One of Marc's eyebrows raised. His eye flashed a deep green. A bare hint of a pulse could almost be seen reverberating through the air, piercing Henry's head. Henry began rubbing his temples, a slight wince of pain breaking his concentration. In the brief moment it took for Henry to recover, Marc and Celeste were gone. Henry cursed his poor luck.

Outside, in the beautiful, temperate Springtime atmosphere, with colourful flowers blooming all over the place and young adults spending as much time playing on the emerald grass as possible, Marc led Celeste toward his car. He knew that he could get a storm going; then, she would be all alone with him. "Did you happen to catch the weather forecast?" he asked. "No, I'm sorry, I was kind-of in a hurry to get to class today," Celeste admitted. Jokingly, Marc added, "Maybe, if you didn't party so much, and focused more on your studies..."

_Party..._

_That... whatever he was..._

It was starting to come back to her. The blazing eyes, the deep voice, the violence...

Marc reached into Celeste's mind, and found a somewhat-concealed memory of Henry's first encounter with her. _Playing 'hero' again, I see,_ Marc mused to himself. _It's what you're good at._

With the prana he'd drained from the young woman earlier, Marc focused on the sky. Soon, the white, puffy clouds began to congregate into a cloud-bank, getting heavier with water. It was taking all his reserves, but it was well worth it to see the sky darken, the thunder and lightning giving an ominous warning about an extremely wet future. "Why don't we take my car?" Marc asked. "It looks like it could start pouring down any second."

Celeste nodded a hasty agreement, and followed Marc... unaware of Henry's stalking...

Henry had been following the fatally-fated pair since they left the class. He knew Marc might have felt his presence, if he hadn't been more focused on the storm he was brewing. Henry also knew that, the moment they were in Marc's car, he would have Celeste all to herself. While she was a beautiful girl with a great personality, Celeste hadn't made enough of an impact to be terribly missed. It would be all too easy for Marc to drain the prana completely from her body, dump her in a ditch somewhere, and erase the memory of Celeste's presence from the minds of everyone who noticed her.

With some difficulty, Henry used his cloud-bursting technique to erode through the cloud-blanket. It was taxing, that was for sure, but it would be worth it to keep Celeste safe...

Marc slightly frowned in disappointment. _Well played, Henry... Well played._ Celeste noticed the break in the clouds and smiled. "We might not have to drive, after all," she noted. "I was kind-of hoping to walk there, anyway. I love the weather around here, and..." she started blushing. "... and, it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world to go for a walk with you... just the two of us, you know?"

Henry gagged. _Of course she's smitten by him,_ he thought with some disgust. _She'd probably think it was romantic if she knew what he was, too... it's stupid, the way people these days glorify our condition, like it's something to envy. If they only knew what it felt like..._

Along the way, Celeste looped her arm in Marc's. She was thoroughly enjoying their walk. Marc was thoroughly enjoying how well his plan was working. Within the week, he expected to get her in bed. Within another week, he expected to have her enslaved to him. And, by the end of the month, the last Hesselius would be dead.

Henry knew what would happen if Celeste was kept in the dark. Without being suspicious of Marc, she would never leave his side. Henry reached deep into Celeste's mind, and did the only thing he could think of: he unleashed her memories of the night before.

Celeste stopped, her eyes wide. Marc stood before her, holding her by her arms. "Celeste, is everything okay?" he asked.

Celeste's eyes became misty, and she wiped at them with her sleeve. "Um... y-yeah," she replied, "everything's okay... I just..." Unsure of what she was about to say, she looked down. "You probably wouldn't believe me, anyway."

"Try me," Marc reassured, coaxing her with his voice.

Celeste looked up into his eyes, her fear and vulnerability palpable. "Last night, I was at a frat party," she confessed, "and some guys were about to rape me... and then, this one guy just appeared out of the shadows, and kicked all their asses."

Marc knew, right away, that it was Henry. He had a flair for the dramatic, especially when he was playing the 'white knight'. "Well, I guess you should be grateful that he was there," he replied, unsure of just how to proceed.

"That's not all," Celeste continued. "I don't know if it was something they slipped in my drink, or what, but... well... I saw this weird glowy effect around each of the guys... and this darkness came out of him, like some kind of... black hole. It sucked the light out of those guys." She looked off to the side, a look of shame brushed across her features. "I know, it sounds crazy... I can't explain it, but I know what I saw... and, I'm not some crack-pot paranormal chick, either. I'm usually the most skeptical person in the room..."

Marc had an idea of how to get out of this trap. He wrapped Celeste in a hug. "There are more things, in Heaven and on Earth, than are dreamt of in our philosophies," he paraphrased. "We should just be grateful that, whatever it was, it didn't attack you, in the process. We should really be grateful that it intervened, and stopped you from being raped, or possibly worse."

Henry cursed his luck as, when Marc gazed softly into Celeste's eyes, their faces came closer and closer. Just before they could kiss, however, he threw a rock between them. "What the...?!" Celeste wondered aloud as Henry hid.

"Probably just some teenagers," Marc said, glaring daggers in Henry's direction. _I know you're there,_ he thought to Henry. _You're just prolonging the inevitable._

As Henry watched the pair enter the coffee-house, he thought back, _The same could be said about you, cousin..._


End file.
